The Clouds Fell and Became Mist
by mandaree1
Summary: A magpie flies into town. Wirt helps with the harvest. Jason and Sara are along for the ride.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Over the Garden Wall!**

 **Title: The Clouds Fell and Became Mist**

 **Summary: A magpie flies into town. Wirt helps with the harvest. Jason and Sara are along for the ride.**

 **...**

One might think it odd to see a young child poking out of the bushes at the local high school, but that one would not be Wirt, who let out a long sigh and helped his brother out, brushing away the leaves. "Greg, what did I say about cutting class?"

"Hi, Wirt," Greg said, ignoring him entirely. "Hi, Jason Funderberker. Hi, Sara the Bee."

Sara waved. "Hey, little dude."

"Hey, Greg," Jason said. Whined, really, but that was just how his voice came across.

"Greg," Wirt insisted, frowning. " _What did I say_ about cutting class?"

"It was only the last ten minutes!" Greg pouted, crossing his arms. "School is boring."

"Yes, well, it's also mandatory. Unless, of course, you want to live in the woods the rest of your life. You don't want that, do you?" The two brothers had an awkward stare-down. "Greg, this is where you say it's not what you want."

Jason shuddered. "The woods are full of spiders and wolves and stuff. Nobody likes that stuff."

"I like that stuff," Sara volunteered, smiling a little. "But I'm not about to go live in it."

Greg pointed at the dip in the concrete cars pulled out of. "I had to get our new friend to you, Wirt. She's been asking for you all day."

"New friend?" Wirt repeated dubiously, then squinted where he was pointing.

"Is that a crow?" Jason Funderberker pondered, tilting his head to the side. "Or is it a raven?"

"Ravens are bigger," Sara answered almost immediately. "But it looks like it fell into paint."

"No, no," Wirt said, with a surprising amount of certainty. "I'm pretty sure that's a magpie."

The magpie, as if summoned, gave a little hop and took off, landing on Wirt's shoulder. He let out an 'ouf' and wobbled a bit, trying to steady. She was a _bit_ heavier than a bluebird.

"Whoa!" Sara hesitantly reached out to touch its chest. The magpie fixed one fierce eye on her, but allowed the affection. "Is it wild?"

"I guess? I mean, magpies are pretty smart, right? Maybe it just wants some food."

Greg stared up at him solemnly. "She's been tapping at the window of my school all day, Wirt."

Wirt felt his anxiety begin to creep up his spine. "Isn't the elementary school, like, right up the street from the old graveyard?"

The magpie let out a low cry Wirt translated as a cackle. Her chirps reminded him eerily of a computer that had something wrong with it.

* * *

"Wow, seriously?" Wirt let out a low whistle as he opened the window to his room, the magpie hopping inside. "And here I thought I lost you."

"You can't lose her, Wirt," Greg called from his bed, laying sprawled out on his belly, Jason Funderburker comfortably curled up next to him and a workbook open, waiting to be filled in. "She's a busy working bird who demands to be respected."

"I respect her just fine. I'd just respect her more if she didn't follow me to our house, is all."

The magpie opened her beak and cried out. "Samhain! Samhain!"

" _Cheese and crackers_!" Wirt squeaked, pressing a hand to his chest. He let out a half-delirious laugh. "I forgot they could learn to talk."

The bird hopped a bit and looked at him with one eye, seeming to decide the message needed to be repeated. "Samhain! Samhain!"

"Greg," Wirt said. "What is she saying?"

"Hmmm... I think she's saying it's almost Samhain, Wirt."

"I know that," he snapped, as if the magpie would understand. "I can read a calendar."

" _I_ didn't know that," Greg admitted. "What's Samhain, Wirt?"

"It's, like, the original Halloween. I think it's a Celtic thing? Or was it Gaelic?" He mentally shrugged. "It's when the veil is thinnest, supposedly, and ghosts can walk the Earth or whatever."

"But ghosts already _do_ walk the Earth, Wirt."

"...Sometimes, you really creep me out, Greg."

"Thanks!"

The magpie decided she wasn't being paid attention to and flew onto Wirt's desk, pecking at his poetry book. Wirt let out a yelp and tried to shoo her away, only to no avail. "No, no, no! My poems aren't for your nest!"

"Maybe she just wants her babies to be literate, Wirt!" Greg defended, frowning. "It's not fair to rip that chance away from them!"

"Then she can send them to _bird school_ and have them learn there."

"But school is _boring_!"

"That's... really not my problem, Greg."

Jason Funderburker croaked.

"Enoch!" the magpie squawked, startling all of them. "Harvest!"

Greg propped himself up on his front hands. "So _that's_ why she wanted to see us!"

"She doesn't mean the pumpkin guy, does she?" Wirt asked rhetorically, sliding into his seat without realizing it. "Wait. No. That's not possible. The Unknown doesn't mix with our world."

"Sara can go into the Unknown in her dreams," the younger boy stated sensibly. "Maybe Enoch taught the birdie to talk in her sleep!"

"That seems... highly unlikely."

"Harvest!" she repeated, flapping her wings once. "Samhain!"

Wirt let out a low groan, biting his lip. "Please tell me this bird isn't telling me Enoch wants me to help him with the harvest for Samhain."

"When is Samhain?"

"Tomorrow? It starts tomorrow, anyway." He reached out his index finger to tap the magpie's head. "Enoch, you have some terrible, terrible timing."

The magpie let out a quiet chirp, cocking her head to the side, before calling out, almost mournfully; "Pilllllllgrim."

* * *

Greg pouted as Wirt put him to bed, tucking him in. "Can't I come help the harvest?"

"Greg, I'm breaking into a graveyard," Wirt answered reproachfully. " _And_ a pumpkin patch. Literally everything I'm doing tonight is illegal."

The boy wasn't deterred, blinking up at him with hopeful eyes. " _Please_?"

"No."

"If I stay home, will you take me and Jason trick-or-treating when you get back?"

"Trick-or-treating?" Wirt stared at the boy as if he were an alien. "You actually _want_ to go trick-or-treating? After what happened last year?"

Greg made grab hands. "I need that candy, Wirt."

"If you say so."

"D'ya promise, Wirt?"

"Yes, Greg. I promise."

"Pinkie promise?" He held his up. "You can't hold off on a pinkie promise."

Wirt swallowed a wave of guilt. "Pinkie promise."

* * *

Wirt was as good a thief as he was a brother. At least, that's how he felt on the matter. The magpie, calmly perched on his shoulder, didn't seem to mind how hesitant he was to cut the chain holding the old graveyard closed, swinging the gate open with a screech (and a flinch) before going all the way back to the neighborhood pumpkin dealer and climbing the wooden fence.

"This is the stupidest thing I've ever done in my life," he told the magpie with a grimace. The bird cocked her head to the side. "Maybe a song will help? It certainly helps Greg." He sucked in a deep breath, picking up the first decently large pumpkin. "Alright, poet boy. Try and make a little tune."

 _Oh, potatoes, and molasses_  
 _The time is ever near_  
 _But I have naught to fear_  
 _Because time is eternal here_

Wirt risked a glance at the magpie, as if expecting scorn for ripping off his brother's rhythm, but she merely shuffled her feathers, as if urging him to go on.

 _Oh, potatoes, and molasses_  
 _It's such a pretty night_  
 _Though I do hope I won't get caught_  
 _I am quite a sight_  
 _Covered in dirt and pumpkin guts in the woods_  
 _Tonight_

The work seemed easier as he sang, setting pumpkin after pumpkin onto the tops of old, soggy graves. The air was misty. He hadn't seen a soul since leaving the house.

 _Oh, potatoes, and molasses_  
 _That's such a specific phrase_  
 _I may just have some when I get home_  
 _With a pinch of hot cocoa on the side_

"Enoch!" the magpie cried, almost making Wirt trip halfway over the fence. He listened, but no one came. He wondered just how circumstantial the mist really was.

 _Oh, potatoes, and molasses_  
 _I hope Enoch'll be pleased_  
 _Seeing how we busted into his party_  
 _That was pretty mean._

The rustling of leaves made him pause, oddly calm, but it was just the wind. Wirt fell into a strange kind of peace at night; he knew it wasn't safe, but nothing around here could ever hope to be worse than the Beast. (Though that stump he stubbed his toe on _was_ a close second.)

 _Oh, potatoes, and molasses_  
 _I fear I'm losing my mind_  
 _But I'm hardly to blame_  
 _Anybody would say the same_  
 _If they had a life like mine._

The trips began to feel a bit calming. It was still creepy, and still hard work, but he knew it would amount to something. He had a bird on his shoulder. He was helping Enoch with the harvest. Greg was in bed, appeased by the concept of candy and costumes. There was nothing for Wirt to feel worried about.

 _Oh, potatoes, and molasses_  
 _There's snow in my boots_  
 _And leaves in my spine_  
 _And the branches, twisting like vines_  
 _Are in my lungs tonight_

 _Oh, potatoes, and molasses_  
 _The blight is mine alone_  
 _Pretending I could be normal_  
 _With the Beast in my bones_

He went _around_ the stump, this time.

 _Oh, potatoes, and molasses_  
 _The Edelwood may be gone_  
 _But my soul still lingers in the Unknown_  
 _And my brother is a mess_  
 _He'll never pass any of his tests_  
 _And he might have to live in the woods_

 _Oh, potatoes, and molasses_  
 _I have to wonder if we should've just stayed_  
 _And had tea with Beatrice  
Perhaps I just got played_

 _Oh, potatoes, and molasses_  
 _Such a specific phrase_  
 _But I suspect my song is becoming pretty specific too_  
 _So I have no reason to complain_

Wirt let out a sigh, exchanging a look with the magpie. "Maybe I should've just stuck to Greg's lyrics."

"I dunno. _I_ thought it was pretty good."

He flung the pumpkin in his hands out of surprise, watching in horror as the oblong shape splattered across the ground. "Sara? Whaaat are you doing here?"

"I'm here too!" Jason volunteered, falling over the graveyard fence with a thud. Sara helped him up with a laugh.

"I think the better question is what _you're_ doing here," she answered simply. "Carrying pumpkins into a graveyard with a bird? That's _kinda_ suspect, Wirt."

"Maybe," he admitted, biting his lip. "But I didn't think anyone would be coming. The mist and all."

"Samhain!" the magpie interjected, and Wirt gave it a little scratch on the head, as if promising he hadn't forgotten.

"It _is_ oddly quiet out here." Sara took a look around, frowning slightly. "And not just 'cause this is a graveyard. Why the pumpkins, anyway?"

"I'm helping the harvest," Wirt told them, surprising even himself with the quiet confidence in his voice. "It's- it's a thing. They wear pumpkins."

"Who?"

Wirt waved a hand at the graves.

Jason Funderberker paled. "A-Are you saying that _ghosts_ are gonna come out of the ground?"

"No?" He tilted his head to the side. "I don't think they count as ghosts. They're just dead. Well, whatever they are, they're usually pretty pleasant people, so you don't have to worry."

The boy shuddered. "Sometimes, the things you say wig me out, man," he mumbled. Wirt had a flashback to earlier that night, telling Greg, _"Sometimes, you really creep me out, Greg."_ It must run in the family.

"Are you going to help me or not?" he asked, face turning hot. Wow. He just got caught singing. That's just... no. Wirt isn't capable of letting that sink in right now. (Also, he's breaking into a graveyard. That's pretty weird too.)

"I'll help ya', pilgrim," a new voice said, and a hand tapped Wirt on the shoulder, and suddenly the night went from mortifying to downright terrible.

Jason is not what Wirt would consider a strong character, and it shows in how the boy immediately let out a yell, backing off behind Sara. "IT'S A MURDERER WEARING A PUMPKIN SUIT!"

"Jason, please," Wirt pleaded. "He's just a member of the harvest."

"Oh, no, it's quite alright." The skeleton waved it off with the same remarkably chipper attitude most of the people in Enoch's town possessed. "I did come on a little too strong there, eh? Anywho, Enoch just sent me ahead to help."

"Help?" Sara asked, her eyes drawn to the shovels in his other hand.

"Righty-o," he said, and Wirt felt a sinking sensation in his belly. He couldn't tell for sure, but he thought the pumpkin mask was smiling directly at him. "He figured you'd have some issues with this part, so I came to lighten the work load."

* * *

"I can't believe we're just letting this happen," Wirt heard Jason murmur, sounding very ill at ease, as he dug the tip of his shovel into another grave. "This is dark and illegal and _weird_ all at once."

Sara's voice was faint as she answered him. The boy couldn't tell if she was horrified or intrigued. "I think, even if we _did_ call the police, no one would come."

"Oh, don't you worry now, ya'll," their company hummed cheerfully, setting a pumpkin on the skeleton's chest before climbing out the grave to start another hole. "These'll be perfectly fine by mornin'."

"Samhain!" the magpie cried, perched on the fence.

"Absolutely, friend."

Wirt put a pumpkin down and crawled out, getting more dirty by the second. "Can I ask you a question, man? If- if it's not too much trouble, I mean."

"Sure thing, pilgrim!"

The boy winced as he flexed his hands, feeling the irritation from the rubbing of the shovel handle. "I didn't think that- well, that the Unknown could mix with this realm."

"Aw, pilgrim." The creature sounded disappointed. "You know that ain't true."

"Okay, yeah, you're right." Wirt nodded to himself. If the Unknown and this realm- the Known?- couldn't mix, he and his brother never would've visited it in the first place, nor would they have come back. Sara wouldn't be able to walk in it in her sleep. He wouldn't be able to either. Jason didn't seem to be connected quite yet, but considering his resistance to Enoch's mist, he figured it was only a matter of time. "Still, though. It's never gotten this close together before, Samhain or not. What's the big deal?"

"Aw, it's not a question of why _here_ , pilgrim, it's a question of why _now_." He poked at the soil with the tip of his shovel. "This place is soggy to the brim. Water is our domain, y'see?"

Wirt did see. He saw it firsthand, even. "Okay, then. Why now?"

The harvester let out a cackle, poking him in the belly with the handle of his shovel. "'Cause you're here, pilgrim! You and the little adventurer! We can finally get our friends outta this swampy ol' place, and into the happy harvest they've been waiting for!" He nudged the stem of his pumpkin head in such a way Wirt assumed he was trying to metaphorically tip his hat. "We're all real thankful for you two, bridging the gap and all."

Wirt scowled at the choice of words. "I'd just like to say that Greg and I aren't, like, magical protagonists who want to save the world or whatever. We just happened to owe Enoch a favor. That's all."

"You call this a _favor_ , dude?" Sara asked.

"I would." Two long, thin tentdrils touched their shoulders, making them both jump and freeze all at once. Enoch patted Jason Funderberker on the head as he continued. "Howdy, pilgrim."

"Does everyone in the Unknown know me by that, now?"

"Names spread. Gossip, too." Enoch seemed amused by the mere thought of it. "S'hard _not_ to know the names of the people who defeated the Beast."

"That wasn't us," he ground out, because nobody in their right mind wanted to be known as the person who defeated the Beast. There would always be other Beasts. Wirt didn't want them coming after him and Greg. Or Beatrice, now that he thought about it. She'd been there too. "You listen to gossip too much, I reckon."

"It's all the news we got," he rumbled, sounding unhurt by the claim.

* * *

The mist grew thicker the closer it got to midnight, creating a chill that made itself at home under Wirt's skin. He'd grown mostly desensitized to skeletons and death long before this; the part that sickened him related more to the desecration of the graves than the actual bodies. He just had to trust in Enoch. Or run away from home. There really wasn't any other options to this.

As night turned day, the large pumpkin stirred, legs sprawling out in a multitude of directions. "You ready, children?"

"No," Jason said, still torn between horror and confusion.

"I have literally no idea," Sara admitted.

"I'm ready to go to bed," Wirt replied, rubbing an eyelid with a gritty hand. "No offense, Enoch."

"None taken, pilgrim." Enoch stretched out to his fullest height. "C'mon out, everybody!"

It's hard to take skeletons crawling out of anything seriously. It just is. In concept, they're disturbing. In reality, they come across more cartoonish than anything else. Wirt actually felt a bit more at ease as they all came out, shoving pumpkins onto their heads. A few began to dance in a circle, while a few more began to sing. Some shuffled about awkwardly, feeling surly or self-conscious. None of them seemed overtly unhappy.

"Is this death?" Sara questioned, stunned. "Is this were we all go when we die?"

"We don't like to think of it as dying." The one who'd brought the shovels waved the notion away. "We like to consider it 'being ripe'. We're harvesting the ripe'uns right now."

"That we are, friend." Enoch let out a content sigh. "Not to worry, kiddos. You're not nearly ripe enough."

The former pointed at Wirt. "Well... he's half-ripe."

"I don't like the sound of that."

"Oh, it's nothin', really."

"Wait, no, you can't just-"

The world exploded into mist.

* * *

 _Wirt dug his fingers through the grass, locking green blades between his knuckles. The scents of summer and food tickled his nose._

 _"'Bout time you showed up, dufus."_

 _He cracked open an eye. "Beatrice?"_

 _The ginger woman smiled at him, looking like a challenge and a prayer and a friend all at once. "Sit down, Wirt. Tell me one of your stupid poems or something. The veil is thin enough for us to chat."_

 _"For how long?"_

 _Beatrice shrugged with a confused sound. "Dunno. Let's see if we can get through a sandwich each." A fluttering of wings made him jump, but it was just the magpie, making itself at home on the woman's shoulder. She laughed as it squawked. "You're absolutely right, friend. His shoulder_ is _bony."_

* * *

"Hey, Sara?" Jason asked as they made their way home, the moon sinking low behind them. Enoch had promised Wirt would be along shortly.

"Yeah, Jason?"

The boy was shivering. "Do you- do you really think that was death?"

She shrugged. "I sure hope so. It was pretty nice, if you ask me."

"And- and Wirt knew about it. Wirt knows death."

"I guess?"

"Do'ya think Greg knows him?"

"Probably."

Jason looked at her, eyes rimmed with fear. "Is that what that Unknown place is? Death?"

Sara blinked at him. "Nah, dude. I go into it all the time, remember?"

"Oh." That calmed him somewhat. "Right."

She gestured with her hands, swinging them down on the open air. "I always figured it was more, like, the state of unconsciousness itself. I always find myself on the far edges of the Unknown, where there's a lot of villages and quirky characters. Wirt and Greg went a lot deeper than I did. They saw stuff I haven't."

"Sara?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you teach me how to lucid dream?"

Sara stopped and stared at him. "I _can_... but why? You've been spooked this whole time."

Jason hesitantly nodded. "But everyone always says to face your fears head-on, right? And if you and Wirt are there, I know it can't be _too_ dangerous."

"Jason, we just saw Wirt digging up graves."

"I'm... trying not to think about it."

She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. They walked the rest of the way in companionable silence.

 **Author's Note: I've had this idea for a while now, and I finally got it all out in typing! I dunno how much this will or won't make sense, since it blended in the comics and a bit of theory, but I enjoyed it nonetheless!**

 **-Mandaree1**


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